Murmuration
by Sydney Z. Hampshire
Summary: Years after the pilots death, Feb'22, Vincent walks the hills of Rocket Town waiting for the knowledge that his friend remains on Planet in some form. Inspired by my trip to Somerset.


**Murmuration**

The sun's warming rays were in vain as it leant towards the horizon.  
It was early in the year, and a cold breeze was blowing in the February evening.

Vincent Valentine had been wandering the hills south-east of Rocket Town since early morning, back and forth over the low knolls that mar the otherwise flat plains, but now he's reached his destination, after avoiding it all day, and his bare fingers trace the cool granite stone marker, granite taken from the Northern Boundaries, the place they had stood together, he and Cid, years ago.

Cid had watched the sunrise.  
Vincent had watched Cid.  
It was hard not to, he, at that moment, had been the epitome of everything Vincent desired, his wild grin turned to the rising sun, eyes gleaming gold in the light, his hair brushed and ruffled as the freezing winds of the north picked up with the new day and tugged and pulled on Cid's scarf and jacket, he looked so truly pure and happy in that moment, despite the cold and Cloud's incessant moaning, about his broken wrist from snowboarding, for the last three days.

He'd beckoned Vincent over, let the man stand behind him, hand resting on his shoulder, glad of the peace and quiet granted from the young warrior's current sleep, that would soon have to be disturbed as they needed to continue to trudge down from Icicle Village and walk the last span of snow fields between them and the Highwind, perched warm and safe on the naked cliff tops.

Vincent remembered the firmness of Cid's shoulder under his human hand, then the warmth of his back as he leant against Vincent's chest, and moments later the heat of the smaller man's body when the gunman wrapped his arms around him, it had been a awkward moment, but Cid had just smiled and somehow it had made everything better, and let the both of them know it was okay.

Cid had watched his back though thick and thin, during the most irrelevant squabble within the group, to the long awaited fight atop the Mako Cannon in Midgar, and the most dreaded battle any of them had face, the one against Sephiroth in the Northern Crater. Vincent hoped he'd returned the favour, and that he'd been as good a companion and friend to Cid, as the pilot had been to him.

But that was a long time ago, and now neither man was in the north, and one would never return.

Vincent sighed and sank to the ground, leaning his head against the cold rough stone, the wind was picking up with the lowering sun, but he would not miss this night, as he had not missed it for many past years. He turned his head minutely, brushing his hair from his eyes and looking out over the plains, and, directly below the hills, the marshes, fed by streams off the Nibelheim Mountains.

Behind him, 5 miles or so away, Rocket Town was settling down for night fall.

He started when, somewhere imperceptible, a low whisper was heard…  
Was it…!?  
No… Just the wind through the reeds.  
He sighed, but was patient, always patient…

Moments passed, and another whisper reached Vincent's ears through the gloaming, he sat up sharply and gazed over the marshes, there, in the distance was a dark cloud, it tossed and swirled as if it had a mind of its own, and Vincent leant expectantly upon his knees, a wistful smile upon his eternally pale face.

Seconds passed, and the cloud wasn't a cloud anymore, it was hundreds of thousands of tiny independent specks, and twice as many whispering wings, and with a sudden -almost metallic- rush, the birds swept over the hillside, Vincent's smile broadened as they blossomed and plummeted over the marshes, rising and falling, darker and more beautiful than the greatest, most tightly organised school of fish, moving like one organism, perfectly arranged, commanded by some unknown order, excepting the occasional straggler, which would soon, abashedly, catch up with the greater host of birds.

The night grew darker, it also grew colder, but Vincent merely drew his cape closer and hunkered down, determined to watch to the end.

The starlings, for that is what they were, rattled over the marshes in one last triumphant rising torrent, before steadily spiralling down, down into the reeds, a whispering cataract of creatures, and Vincent, his sensitive ears more than enough to pick up the sound, could once again find no qualm with the comforting drone, though it was not the low thrumming that once sounded so safe in his ears, and throbbed with such familiarity below his feet, it was still a welcome reminder that some things are destined to be as eternal as the skies they graced, so long as the Planet survived.

The birds vanished; the last of the group falling like sycamore seeds into the marsh, occasionally a low flying group would rise up and settle elsewhere in the reeds, and Vincent knew they would keep that up through most of the night. Standing up, uncoiling from his seated position, and stretching out his stiff limbs, Vincent spoke: "Well?" he asked, turning partially to look over his shoulder.

A well wrapped up woman, in her mid fifties, with a young relative of undetermined gender hanging off her hand, smiled from just above a very well worn old scarf that no longer smelt of cigarettes and tea, and said, "You were right, Vinnie, it was about time I saw that," she looked down at the child, "What do you think? Did you like it?" the child just smiled around a small finger, "He's not gone, is he?" she looked up again and Vincent nodded, smiling,  
"He always said he'd be hard to get rid off. I'd like to think this was his way of remaining with us."  
"It's hard to think it was so long ago…"  
"Yes. So long ago… and so long ago that he first brought me here, showed me the birds," he'd turned back to the darkening marshes, and beyond, the shadowed plains.

"Thank you for coming," he said eventually, "But your family must be waiting for you," he strode over to her side, "I'll walk you back to them, Yuffie," she nodded and let the almost ageless man take her arm, the child trudged, yawning, by their side as they left over the hills and towards the road running from Nibelheim to Rocket Town below these grassy rises, it would be another year before Vincent returned to the lonely marker again, and he would be alone that time, sometimes he wondered if that was how it should be, sometimes he wondered if the birds would still be there if he didn't come to watch them, he was pretty sure they would be, but he didn't want to risk it, so he would always return, every year, on February the 22nd.


End file.
